


Rhythm and Rhyme

by EnvyBakemono



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-20
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-18 16:40:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9394031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnvyBakemono/pseuds/EnvyBakemono
Summary: After an accident two years ago, Ed's trying to get back into the game. But he still can't play the guitar like he used to, and his bastard of a manager keeps pushing. All in all, he's happy for the distraction a cute stranger brings, especially a stranger as cute as this one. But it's the world of rock n' roll. When you play - you play to win. Edvy modern AU, written for santtusaan for the Edvy Exchange 2016-17!





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for santtusaan for the Edvy Exchange 2016-17!  
>  TW: disability coping, alcohol, some blood, injury and…well, porn. A lot of porn. Exhibitiony, casual-sex porn.  
>  Chapter is a title of a song by Halestorm.

**Rhythm and Rhyme**

**Chapter One  
Love Bites (And So Do I)**

 

                Ed pushed his head against the cold concrete, tried to hold back his tears and let the ringing in his head fade away. Again. It had happened again.

                “Ed -?”

                “Go away,” he mumbled. _Fucking…useless._

                “It’ll be –“

                “I said, _go away._ ” If he heard ‘it’ll be okay’ one more time, he was going to scream. Fuck. He was so close to screaming anyway.

                His arm stung, and he raised it to his head – or tried to. The prosthetic at his side, nerves exhausted from all the work, just twitched and lay still.

                “Ed –“

                “Fuck off,” he grumbled. “I need booze.” That wasn’t really what he needed. He needed a rest. He needed an arm and leg that _worked_ again.

                He needed to be able to play.

* * *

 

                The hotel bar was only half-full, and by the time Ed had gotten his beer, the last of the large parties was starting to trickle out. The remnants were the night-birds, getting their last kicks of the night in before the bar closed at two AM. Ed glanced over them, but none of them looked like fans. Thank god.

                “I feel like I’m obligated to ask what’s going on.”

                Ed glanced up from his half-finished drink at the bartender. They were leaning on the bar with a smirk that made him feel _decidedly_ uncomfortable. Maybe that wasn’t the word. “Obligated, huh? Don’t bother.”

                “You’re that hotshot, aren’t you?”

                His stomach flipped. He just nodded. “Yep. That’s – me alright.” He dimly remembered that interview.

                _“How does it feel to be a rising star?”_

_Cocky grin, hair flip – “I’ll tell you when I’m done.”_

_“You’ve been named one of the most talented guitar players in history, and at such a young age.”_

The bartender was still staring at him, he realized, and a flush covered his face. “Why do you ask?”

                “Oh, well, ain’t there supposed to be a concert tomorrow?”

                “ _Ugh._ Please ask me something else.”

                The bartender flicked a strand of green hair out of their face. It was a pretty punk look for the hotel, Ed thought. The Sheraton was usually a little more upscale, but this one had three ear piercings, and he could glimpse the start of a tattoo at the edge of their shirt collar. “Okay. You here with anyone?”

                …He was bad at social cues, but not _that_ bad. He blushed even harder. “I’m _nineteen.”_

“And?”

                “Aren’t you working?”

                The bartender checked their wrist. Ed followed the curve of it with a far-too-interested look – and then tore his gaze away. What number beer was this?

                “I’m working for fifteen more minutes. Can you wait that long?”

                “Uh?”

                “I’ll take that as a yes.” And then they sauntered away, and Ed blinked. What had he just agreed to?

                He stared back into his beer. His head was spinning, but not _nearly_ enough. He should have started drinking earlier.

                Right on cue, his phone vibrated. _Ignore it, ignore it, ignore it –_ He pulled it out anyway and dropped it on the counter with a sigh.

                BASTARD: we’re still on for tomorrow right?

                Ed tried to swallow the lump in his throat. Fucking... _hell._ Hell no. No. Please. He closed his eyes, trying to make the anger go away, but it sat there, getting colder and colder until he could feel it trapped in his chest. He hadn’t been able to get rid of it since the _bastard_ had signed him up for this.

                _We’ll get a stand-in guitarist. You just have to sing._

Yeah. Stand there and sing and let everybody see his ruined fucking body. Let everybody know that he was nineteen and washed up and useless –

                The glass shattered in his hand, and he flinched away. A shout came from the other end of the bar, and he squeezed his eyes closed – he could feel a shard in his chest, one had cut his cheek, and they were going to look, and they would _see,_ it had been his replacement hand, his _prosthetic_ that worked but didn’t work well enough to play for him –

                A hand appeared on his shoulder, and he was dimly aware of the sound of shards being swept off the counter. “Hey,” came the whisper. “Don’t wreck my shit.”

                The tears started falling then, and Ed wanted to _run,_ but he couldn’t – he was frozen right there.

                The person walked off – the bartender, Ed thought, but he didn’t dare open his eyes, he was just listening to their footsteps. A door closed. The vague sounds of whispers faded. Then the gentle touch was on his shoulder again. “Open your eyes.” It was worded like a command, even so quietly he could barely hear it.

                Ed opened one eye nervously. The bartender was frowning down at him. Ed tried to focus on something – anything else. “You trying to hurt yourself?”

                It took him a moment, and then he snickered. “Nah.” He opened his palm. The metal shone through the flesh-coloured glove. “It was an accident. Sorry.” He tried to stand up. “Mustang’ll pay for it.”

                The bartender lifted an eyebrow, then leant forward, green hair swinging forward. “Hm,” was all they said. Their hand trailed down Ed’s chest. He glanced down, and flinched again as their fingers found the shard of glass in his shirt. “What about this?”

                Ed felt something hiccup in his chest. “I’ll – take care of it.” They were so close to him, long eyelashes hovering over purple eyes. Their fingers twisted into the wound, and he bit his lip, trying not to gasp –

                -and the shard slid out before he’d even had time to appreciate that it hurt. The bartender grinned at him, and this time he _did_ look away, scowling.

                “Careful. There’s another one in your cheek.” The bartender grabbed a cloth from their apron pocket and wiped off their hands, then leaned in. “Let me get it for you?”

                _Sure,_ Ed tried to vocalize. Fuck. This was more intimate than he’d been expecting. _I am going to take this fucking secret to the grave._ Masochism wasn’t exactly an _attractive_ kink for most people. The worst part was he hadn’t even had it before the accident. The brain was a fucked up deal, alright –

                The bartender’s other hand landed on his thigh, and he twitched. “Ah – uh –“

                “Hold still.” The nimble fingers brushed over his cheek, and Ed felt his crotch pulse at the twinge of pain. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck –

                They yanked out the shard, and at the same time squeezed his thigh with an unexpected roughness. He gasped out loud at the contact, legs spreading, and the fingers stayed on his cheek a little longer, and the hand on his thigh was _rising –_

-and stopped. _Right_ before touching him. A whine rose in his throat.

                “What’s the matter?” The bartender grinned, and Ed was filled with the unassailable urge to punch them in the face. They turned until they were facing him, his back against the bar and legs spread on the stool.

                Ed took a look over his shoulder. The bar was completely empty, and the ‘CLOSED’ sign was hanging conspicuously in the door. “Oh, you sneaky…”

                “Hey, I know what I like.” The bartender lowered their cheek to press against Ed’s. “Want me to stop?”

                _Say yes, say yes, say yes,_ chanted the little paranoid voice in the back of his head. _I should probably listen to that,_ Ed thought dully. It wasn’t the alcohol – he hadn’t even _finished_ that beer – but he’d ignored that voice on the night of the accident as well, and –

                _What’s the worst that can happen?_

He spread his legs a little wider, reached down and moved the stranger’s hand to the bulge in his pants. “Nope,” he breathed.

                “And you’re sober?”

                “Sober enough.”

                The bartended grinned, baring their sharp canines. “Works for me.” Their hand started moving, and Ed pushed against it. _Perfect._ He could do this. He could forget for a little while. And besides, if he could live the lifestyle, who _cared_ what he could play? (It almost worked.)

                He lifted his hand – his working one – to the stranger’s long hair and grabbed a fistful of it. “So are you gonna suck my dick or not?”

                The stranger replied with a throaty laugh. “Needy, _needy._ I didn’t promise a thing. But…” Now both hands were at Ed’s zipper, and a rush of heat flooded his stomach as bare flesh and cold air met his straining erection. The stranger lifted their head from his cheek and gave them a measured look. They were wearing lipstick, Ed realized, rose-pink against pale flesh. “Anything for the superstar, right?”

                Ed couldn’t tell if they were making fun of him or not. Against all odds, that just turned him on more. Emboldened, flushed and a little bit tipsy, he pulled the stranger’s head down until they were kneeling on the floor in front of him. “That’s right.” The cut in his chest was still pulsing with pain.

                They pulled his cock free of the leather trousers, fingers caressing his length, and pressed it to their cheek with a smile.

                Ed fumbled through the fog. “Uh – wait – what do I call you?”

                The stranger burst into a laugh, and Ed felt a little embarrassed. Not enough to _stop,_ though. “My friends call me Envy. You can call me anything you like.” Then their mouth opened, and Ed let out a groan as their painted lips slid down his shaft.

                “F- _fuck-_ “ His hand tightened in Envy’s hair. “Wh-what if somebody sees-“ He didn’t really care. More than that – the idea that somebody might be _watching_ twisted in his gut, he had a stranger between his legs sucking his cock –

                He yanked Envy forward, panting as his orgasm hit him, his cock buried deep in Envy’s throat. Then his hands fell away, and he watched in a daze as Envy pulled back, letting his cock slide out of their mouth with practiced ease. A thread of cum fell over their lip. Ed followed their finger as they brushed it away.

                “Hmm, didn’t last long, did you?”

                Ed couldn’t quite conjure up a response other than sticking out his tongue. “It’s…been a while.”

                “Mm, don’t go so long without treating yourself next time,” they retorted in their lilting voice. Ed was about to come up with another snarky reply – and yelped as their tongue touched against his sensitive, softening cock.

                “A- _ah!_ ”

                They took him gently back into their mouth, and Ed felt his legs twitching – _too much too much too much –_ and another shake ran through him, so strong he almost fell off the stool.

                “Careful, pipsqueak.”

                “What did you call me?” He tried to sound indignant, but it came out as a breathless whimper instead. _Real smooth, Elric._

Envy stood up carefully, steadying him on the stool. “Don’t worry. You’re not short _everywhere._ ”

                Ed was sure he had a response for that _somewhere,_ but he’d left his brain behind about two orgasms ago. Instead, he looked up at Envy with a dazed smile, letting the bartender tuck him back into his pants and zip him up. It was pathetic, but _damn._

“Alright, mister superstar, you’ve had your fun.” Envy gave him a condescending pat on the cheek. “Go get some sleep.”

                “Mm. What if I don’t wanna?”

                “Don’t worry.” Envy pushed their hips in between Ed’s legs, and Ed let out another moan at the feeling of another cock pressed against his. “Next time it’s your turn.” Then they backed off, and Ed managed to wave a goodbye, walking up to his hotel room in some sort of trance.

                It was only once they were standing in front of their room, fumbling for their keycard that it processed. _Next time?_

Oh, he was screwed. At least, he hoped so.


End file.
